
1 The Ballads of a 
Rookie 



ESSEX I. No. 117 

BY 

LEON D. BROOKS 

312th Regiment of Infantry, Camp Dix, N. J. 




JOHN R. ANDERSON 
13 West 15th St., New York City 



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The Ballads of a 
Rookie 

ESSEX I. — No. 117 



By 

LEON D. BROOKS 

^i2th Regiment of Infantry, Camp Dix, N. J. 



JOHN R. ANDERSON 
31 West 15th St., New York Citjj 






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Copyright, November, 1917 

Printed by 
THE CHILDS PRESS 

Floral Park, N. Y. 



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^^ DEDICATION 



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1=1 

"FOR HIM — OUR COLONEL" 

He Commands — 

Firmly, yet with a tender hand, 
Reaching the good that's in the man ; 
Knowingly and thoughtfully, 
But strictly to the military code. 

He Creates — 

A spirit, zeal and zest. 

Makes every soldier do his level best. 

He guards our very souls 

O'er camps' rough road. 

He Leads — 

Not through any power of might. 

But for a cause we're fighting for that's right. 

His victory ours. 

For him we do or die. 

He Orders — 

Not as a demand. 

Our very beings jump at his command. 
For him we'd fight through Hell itself 
And not ask why. 

For him— 

Our Colonel. 



CONTENTS 

Dedication: " For Him — Our Colonel " . . v 

Preface . ix 

"I've Been Called to Colors, Mother" ... 3 

Caught — Drew — Result 4 

" It's a Great Life If You Don't Weaken " . . 5 

" I'm Doin' Me Bit For Me Country "... 7 

" The Old Apple Tree Up By Company K " . 8 

Ballad of the Canteen 10 

D. E. M. of the Post Exchange 12 

" The Y. M. C. A.'s Old Sky Pilot " . . . . 14 

"The Ones We Leave Behind" 15 

" The Lonesome Recruit " 16 

" A Soldier's Recollection " 18 

"What Must I Be In The Shade?" . ... 20 

" Soldier's Tribute to Elkdom " 21 

" Trusting My Country, My Mother, and God " 23 



PREFACE 



These poems are written for the men of Camp 
Dix; the men who are "doin' their bit" with a 
will and a smile, yet with hearts that hold untold 
sorrows and burdens. They tend to express what 
the "rookie" feels and thinks; what he goes thru 
daily and thinks nightly. They say poems are 
written from inspirations; if many of the men 
who sought and even now are seeking exemption 
from the National Army could live one day among 
those who answered the call with a readiness and 
willingness to do or die, they, the American 
Slackers, to the last one, could tell in words just 
what these men live and feel daily as well as the 

ROOKIE AUTHOR. 



"I'VE BEEN CALLED TO 
COLORS, MOTHER" 

I've been called to Colors, mother; 

Aren't you glad you have a son? 

Don't you v^ish I had a brother 

Just to send another one? 

Aren't you proud to tell the story, 

What you've done for our Old Glory? 

I've been called to Colors, mother, 

I'll be leaving home to-day. 

I've been called to Colors, mother; 

I can see your tear-dimmed eyes 

As you say "Good-bye, God keep you 

Safe beneath those foreign skies." 

But, you'll pack my kit and kiss me. 

Even though, God knows, you'll miss me, 

As I'm called to Colors, mother, 

And I'm leaving home to-day. 

I've been called to Colors, mother, 
And I'm glad that I can go. 
I'll serve my country, mother. 
No matter who the foe. 
There's no need to fret or worry. 
Can't you see I have to hurry, 
For I'm called to Colors, mother, 

I'm leaving home to-day. 



So, good-bye, little mother, 

I'll come marching back some day. 

I don't think it will be for long 

Your boy will be away. 

But should I fall while fighting there 

I'll look to God and say this prayer: 

I'm called to Colors, mother, 

I'll be going Home to-day. 



CAUGHT — DREW — RESULT 



I caught croup when I was but a little child. 

I had measles, very, very mild. 

I caught fish when I went fishing, 

Told a lie, then caught a switching. 

Caught cramps from apples till they drove me wild. 

I drew pictures when I was but a boy. 

I drew kids around on sleighs to bring them joy. 

I drew money from the bank 

Every time dad turned the crank, 

I drew so much he hollered "ship a-hoy." 

I drew a birth-day thirty-some years past. 
I caught a cold two weeks before the last. 
Now I'm eating Wrightstown cookies 
At Camp Dix with all the rookies — 
For I drew. 

One seventeen in that big draft. 



"IT'S A GREAT LIFE IF YOU 
DON'T WEAKEN" 



I came to camp a Rookie, 

I'm a Rookie thru and thru. 

I wore old clothes, old shoes, old coat and hat. 

I kissed my girl good-bye, 

I heaved a Rookie sigh, 

And here I am; I don't know where I'm at. 

I get up before sunrise, 

I drill like hell all day; 

I wash my clothes, I make my bed and sweep ; 

I take my little kit 

And mess it up a bit. 

Then crawl into the straw and try to sleep. 

I clean the kitchen pots, 

I mop the kitchen floor, 

I cut the bread and meat and make the fire; 

I meet the army truck, 

That carts away the muck, 

I then sweep up what's left of all the mire. 

Oh, I'm a regular Rookie, 

My uncle is a deacon; 

I'm here to be a soldier boy, 

It's a great life — if you don't weaken. 



I walk ten miles for cedar trees 

To plant in our front yard. 

I pick up papers, matches, bricks and butts. 

With my gun upon my shoulder 

They say I'll make a soldier 

If I stick long enough and have the gutts. 

I've walked a thousand miles 
Since I began to drill. 

I dream squads right, quick step, spittoons ad- 
vance. 
I awoke the other night 
Half-scared to death from fright, 
I dream't I'd just been ordered off to France. 
Oh, I'm a regular Rookie, 
It's the truth that I'm a-speakin', 
Have this carved upon my tombstone: 
It's a great life — if you don't weaken. 

I got a pair of shoes to-day, 

They weigh a ton apiece; 

Honest, they've got hob-nails thru their soles. 

And the last two pair of socks. 

From marchin' over rocks. 

Are nothin' but a bloomin' pair of holes. 

My O. D. shirt has shrunk 

And the other doesn't fit, 

My underwear was never built for me. 

My dress shoes should be nine. 

Even tens would answer fine. 

But the pair I drew at least are twenty-three. 

Oh, I'm a regular Rookie. 

But lately I've been thinkin' 

Sherman certainly was not mistaken: 

It's a great life if you don't weaken. 



"I'M DOIN' ME BIT FOR ME 
COUNTRY" 

I'm doin' me bit for me country. 

I'm hikin* the fields every day. 

I'm drillin' squads right 

From mornin' 'til night; 

Fm earnin' me thirty month pay. 

I'm on kitchen police every Monday. 

On Tuesday I'm up for the guard. 

I clean the latrine, 

Then sleep like a fiend 

When I'm through with policin' the yard. 

I'm always in line with me mess kit. 

Yet, of home food I still have me dreams. 

So I eats to me fill, 

Uncle Sam pays the bill, 

For those damned, good, old, canned army beans. 

It's one, two, three, four, by the sergeant. 

The same by the captain and lieu. 

Squads right, column left; 

Hey, you yap, catch that step, 

If you don't to the guard house for you. 

I'm a rookie, thank God — ^just a private. 

Camp Dix is me home for awhile. 

But when the time comes 

I'll shoulder me gun 

And say, "Kaiser, damn you, now smile." 

I hopes that we're soon goin' over. 

That we get there before it's all through. 

For I'm chucked full of fight, 

And from daybreak till night 

I'm doin' me bit — for the Red, White and Blue. 



"THE OLD APPLE TREE UP 
BY COMPANY K" 



There's an old apple tree stands by Company K, 

And it's been there for years, no doubt. 

I wonder if it 

Doesn't wonder a bit 

As to what all this fuss is about. 

It may recall days of the long, long ago, 

When it stood on some fertile, rich farm, 

Where its blossoms so rare 

With none could compare 

When its fruit was the best in the barn. 

When its cool, fragrant shade in the heat of the 

day, 
Had shielded the cows and the sheep. 
When the silvery notes 
From the meadow larks' throats 
Had drifted with nature to sleep. 

When March winds had whistled a tune as they 

passed. 
When April showers freshened each bough; 
When an axe cut a chunk 
From its strong, sturdy trunk. 
When its roots felt the sting of the plough. 



8 



But those days have passed, they will ne'er come 

again, 
The tree's all alone where it stood 
After fifty-odd years, 
Amid laughter and tears. 
Nature's monument, carved out of wood. 

To-day in the meadow the troops daily pass, 
O'er farm yard and corn field they drill. 
And in place of the plough 
It's machine guns that now 
Sting from the crest of the hill. 

Instead of the lark and its sweet, silver notes, 

The bugle blast rocks it to sleep. 

While out from the glade 

To steal its cool shade. 

It's the army mule, and not the sheep. 

As rookies pass by its limbs seem to wave 

A welcome to cheer them along. 

It gives its rich fruit 

To the hungry recruit. 

It sways with the tune of their song. 

And I wonder sometimes if the old apple tree 

Near the barracks of Company K, 

Will be spared long enough 

To see some of us 

Come back from the hell of the fray. 

Or will it yield at last to the axe? 

Be chopped up, and carted away. 

Like some of the men 

It shields now and then 

From the barracks of Company K. 



BALLAD OF THE CANTEEN 



At night, when mess is over, 

And from duty we are thru, 

There's a place in camp 

Where every rookie goes. 

And it's fun to sit and watch them 

As thru the door they come 

From six-thirty up to nine P. M. and close. 

It's the Canteen, the Canteen, 

Where Jack spends all his dough. 

Where he fills his pipe and buys a sack or two. 

Where he takes life as a joke, 

For to-morrow he is broke 

And pay-day more than ten days overdue. 

It's a pack of Piedmonts, pardner, 

And some Sweet Caps, double deck. 

A chocolate-coated almond bar 

And peanuts by the peck. 

A sack of old Bull Durham 

With a pack of Lucky Strike, 

Enough of milk chocolate 

To last me over night. 

A box of Zu Zu ginger snaps, 

A cream cone on the side; 

A 44 cigar and let the other nickel ride. 

A can of good Prince Albert, 

A hat strap and a comb, 

Some envelopes and writing pad 

To send a letter home. 



10 



A pair of leggin' laces, 

A good five-cent cheroot, 

A box of 2 in 1 to polish 

Up my Sunday boots. 

A corn-cob pipe and matches, 

One towel, a cake of soap, 

A sack of old Duke's Mixture, 

Another five-cent rope. 

An Ever Ready razor, 

A tooth brush and some ink, 

A White Owl six, a looking glass 

To practice up my wink. 

A tin of Little Bobbies, 

A pack of Chesterfields, 

Some tooth paste and a shaving brush, 

A hat cord and a shield. 

Between the Acts, Fatima, 

Lord Salisbury's delight. 

A Cinco and some Belle Mead sweets. 

That's all for me to-night. 

Oh, the Canteen, the Canteen, 

The clearing house of camp. 

The beacon bright for the boys at night 

After each daily tramp. 

They meet there, 

They spend there. 

They laugh and sing and joke. 

They come in with their army bank roll, 

They go out to the army broke. 

But we trust them, 

Yes, we trust them, 

A coupon book every day, 

For we see to it at the old Canteen 

Their coin stays in the U. S. A. 



11 



D. E. M. OF THE POST EXCHANGE 



D. E. M. was in charge of the Post Exchange, 
And he bought and he sold and he swore. 
He bought by the crate load, he sold by the pack, 
He swore he'd not buy any more. 

When he bought candy his cookies were low. 

When candy arrived, cakes were out. 

Then he'd bawl out the salesman for not showing 

up 
And swear that he must have the gout. 

When he bought tobacco, the Call of the Wild 
Had nothing on our D. E. M. 
For he smoked cigarettes and forgot that cigars 
Were purchased by men now and then. 

He didn't chew. Star, Horse Shoe and Plug 
Were not in his line as a buy. 
In place he filled up with Spearmint and Pep, 
When they didn't sell he asked WHY. 

He bought stationery by cases and crates. 
He stacked it away on the shelf. 
He sold a box about once every week, 
He bought that one box himself. 

D. E. M. was a lawyer; a lawyer by trade. 
By practice, by action, by grace. 
And that is the reason whenever he bought 
He figured his profit per CASE. 



12 



He'd plead for discount that he JUDGED him- 
self, 

And, recalling his Circuit Court ways, 

When asked by the credit men when he would 
pay, 

He had their terms read THIRTY DAYS, 

But you can't deny it, he was a success, 
And the canteen may well boast of him. 
He never missed a day from the job. 
He had the gutts and the vim. 

Each salesman his friend, they gave him the best 
In prices, in discounts and stock. 
And the Post runs along in its own even way 
Well managed and firm as a rock. 

And to D. E. M. only, the boys owe their thanks. 
When the mess had a call from the stork. 
For they say thru his efforts Mrs. "Can Army 

Beans," 
Has a young son called Salt Pork. 



13 



"THE Y. M. C. A'S OLD SKY PILOT" 



There's one man in camp we call "Daddy.'' 

He's really just one of the boys. 

Plain spoken but true, 

Your friend through and through— 

The Doctor of Blues, King of Joys. 

He's the Y. M. C. A.'s old Sky Pilot. 

But different from all of the rest. 

He talks like a man 

And does what he can 

To make you live up to the best. 

He's no Sunday School, sour-faced codger. 

His smile's worth a million of them. 

When he takes your hand. 

Why, you understand — 

He's one of God's few chosen men. 

In the mornings he's there in the barracks, 

Cheering us up for the day — 

He's our Pal through and through 

In whatever we do, 

Whether drill, guard, policin' or play. 

When Mess is all through in the evening- 
He's there in the Y. M. C. A. 
With a story or song 
He helps us along — 
Say, he's got a regular way. 



14 



You'd never think he was a Deacon, 
Just an everyday sort of a chap. 
No Bible and preachin' 
Or camp meetin' screechin' 
Is under his number four flap. 

When you crawl in your bunk in the evening- 
He's around with a cheerful good-night. 
Then a bit of a prayer — 
Thanking God he is there 
To help us do all that is right. 

He's the big Comfort Kit of the Army. 

He's got God in his heart — it's his shield. 

He's our Chum, he's our friend. 

And he'll stick to the end — 

Thank the Lord for our "Dad" Westerfield. 



"THE ONES WE LEAVE BEHIND^' 

It's the ones we leave behind who suffer most, 
Not fellows of the rank and file who pass. 
It's the last good-bye that fairly breaks the heart. 
No matter whether father, mother or some win- 
some lass. 

We go, and leave behind a thousand memories. 
Each day recalls some thought to bring us back. 
We follow, ever onward, being led. 
While they must trail alone 

Life's broken track. 



15 



"THE LONESOME RECRUIT" 



I sit on my bunk and look at the boys who have 

their folks come down, 
And it's lonesome, God, it's lonesome here for me. 
They bring them along some real home food and 

a world of love and cheer 
To the ones who soon shall sail across the sea. 

I'm all alone here in the army with no one to 

cheer me up — 
I'd give all I have for a mother's good-night kiss. 
But she's far away, and so is my dad, 'way in the 

Golden West, 
It's their love in my heart, that great home love 

I miss. 

And I think of the chaps who, just like me, sit 

and watch the boys pass by 
With their mothers and dads, their sisters and 

sweethearts, too, 
Whose folks are far and even beyond the call of 

the East or West— 
But up there above the clouds — if you only knew. 

They're lonesome like me. I can understand the 

sigh and the downcast way, 
They're missing that great home tie which sticks 

to the last. 
And there's no one to come and wish them well 

or speed them up with a feed — 
They've got to plough it alone and forget the past. 

16 



I heard a chap say as he sat in his car and looked 

the men over to-day, 
"They haven't the heart to put up half a fight." 
Just let him take his place here with us and think 

of those back-home times, 
Then he'll find out damn quick that he wasn't right. 

We've got the heart, the pep and the gutts, we'll 

go over the top and beyond. 
We'll never quit until the Germans yield. 
Yet, when you think of the cost in blood and we 

are the ones who pay, 
Would you dance a jig out there upon the field? 

He can ride back in his limousine, he can be with 

his folks and his friends. 
He can eat and sleep, and go and come as he will. 
But we are the ones who make him a man, at least 

the world calls him that; 
We pay the price. We swallow the German pill. 

So, you mothers and fathers, you sisters and 
friends, keep on coming to see the boys. 

It cheers them along, if only for just a day. 

And even though it's lonesome for some of us 
men as we watch you passing by 

We're glad you can make them smile that way. 

Your honor is dearer, more sacred to us, than 

the lives we are ready to give. 
Our country will never face Belgium's calamity. 
We'll fight thru the hell of the most fiendish foe 

the world has ever known 
Till America wins a world's humanity. 



17 



"A SOLDIER'S RECOLLECTION" 

Down near the bend of a woodland grove, 
A fair, sweet, fragrant blossom strove 

to bloom. 
In beauty rare it bloomed one day 
Along a woodland's shaded way, 

alone. 
All through the Spring, this flower sweet 
Had hoped that when it bloomed 'twould meet 

a butterfly. 
As time passed by and days grew bright, 
The flower rejoiced at a gladsome sight — 

one came. 
It hovered o'er the flower awhile. 
It fairly seemed to pause, then smile, 

and stopped. 
And from the flower it sought 
The strength that Nature in it wrought, 

its very life. 
For awhile the flower and the fair one dwelt 
In each other's love while the forest knelt, 

at the sight. 
But then, when the flower had given all, 
The butterfly heard another call, 

and flew away. 
Long through the Spring the flower awaits 
For the fair one's return, but it seemed the fates, 

willed not so. 
For the butterfly flew from flower to flower, 
Antl there, all alone, in the woodland bower, 

it kissed them all. 



18 



I 



But deep in its heart a memory grew 
Of the one sweet flower it ever knew, 

and it thought — 

Oh, if I could but find the first 

And only flower that quenched my thirst, 

I would rejoice. 
So back through the woodland it flew to find 
That one dear memory it held in mind, 

o'er all the rest. 
But just as it neared the well-known place 
It looked on a simple, yet wonderful, fact, 

and it paused. 
The face was that of a little child. 
And there, all alone, in the woodland wild, 

she had wandered, 
To pick in the forest, where she knew 
The choicest flowers of the season grew, 

each year. 
She reached for the flower the butterfly sought. 
The flower all alone that Nature had wrought, 

so fair. 
But, just as her hand was near the stem. 
She heard a butterfly's flurry, and then — 

she smiled. 
For even a child like that could see 
The butterfly said, "Leave that for me" — 

and she did. 
And there, near the bend of the woodland grove. 
There where the flower so long had strove 

to bloom 
It realized again, for one brief while, 
The butterfly's kiss, its touch, its smile, 

but too late. 



19 



For Fall had come, and, as God willed, 
By frost and cold, the flower was killed, 

where it grew. 
Then the butterfly thought — had I but known 
Of my love for this flower, I could have shown 

that I was true. 
It found out too late this untold love. 
For there as the snowflakes fell from above, 

it also died. 
So, in our lives, we flutter about. 
We like, we dislike, we fear, we doubt, 

far too much. 
Then let us know just where to alight. 
Know that in doing so we do right. 

Thus be content. 
Why life is short at its very best. 
And soon in Earth's coldness we're called to rest, 

one and all. 



"WHAT MUST I BE IN THE 
SHADE?" 

As an Architect I am a joke. 

As an Engineer I would go broke. 
So let's call a spade a spade. 
If I'm one-seventeen in the "draft," 

What the "L" must I be in the shade? 



20 



"SOLDIER'S TRIBUTE TO ELKDOM" 



Brothers, as the days are speeding 
To that time when life is o'er, 
Let us here in reverence worship — 
Of those lives that are no more. 
For an Elk is not forgotten. 
Even though his Maker calls. 
In spirit he is ever present 
Here with us in Elkdom's halls. 

It was at the close of a beautiful day 
I wandered along, in a casual way, 

alone. 
The sun slowly sank in the far unknown West, 
In fancy I murmured, "One more day at rest, 

to come no more." 
I looked o'er the hills where once it had shown. 
And found it had left e'er from sight it had flown — 

a remembrance. 
For there in the sky a sunset had sped 
To recall to our memory a day that was dead, 

to us all. 
And there as I looked on its beauty and grace 
Once more, in a vision, I pictured a face, 

'twas a friend. 
He had passed like the sun to a great unknown rest 
Yet in dying he whispered, "Farewell, it is best 

I should go. 



21 



But ril leave behind a thought, which I know 
Will cheer you, my friend, as through life you go, 

without me. 
Honor thy God. Respect womanhood to the end. 
Be charitable, merciful, to mankind a friend" — 

then he died 
And, like the sun, passed slowly away. 
I recalled how I pictured at the close of that day, 

the good he had done. 
'Twas his sunset to life. I knew 'twould unfold 
The deeds worth the while; the good left untold, 

to the world. 
Never forgotten that sunset may pass, but. 
In memory its splendor remains to the last, 

of our days. 
We picture the good he did as a man. 
We realize his sunset as only Elks can 

and we say — 
Oh, Death, where is thy sting — 
And then again. 

Oh, Grave, where is thy victory — 
We cry. 

For is it all of life to really live? 
An Elk, in Elkdom's realms 
Can never die. 

Oh, Thou Exalted Ruler, 
Direct us with Thy ever constant care — 
So, when we pass into our own at last. 
We'll clasp the hands of brothers 
Who'll be there. 

Toll on, you chimes of Elkdom. 
Sound your hour of recollection to us all. 
Here's to our absent brothers, who, though dead, 
Have never passed beyond our fond recall. 

22 



"TRUSTING MY COUNTRY, 
MY MOTHER, AND GOD" 



Don't be ashamed of your tears, mother, dear, 
Those tears you are shedding for me. 
I know how you'll feel when you see me march by 
To fight for a world's liberty. 

Each teardrop's a treasure, a message, a hope, 

That will bring me back safely to you. 

Then from tears into smiles you will welcome 

your boy, 
And forget the dark days he's been through. 

It's for mother and country I'm going away, 
And as onward and onward I plod, 
I'll be thinking and praying for you back at home, 
Trusting my country, my mother, and God. 



23 



^^SOMEWHERE ABROAD" 

312th Regimental Song 

WeVe left our homes, 
We've left our friends, 
We're out to do and dare, 
Take our share, anywhere. 
We're out to fight. 
Our cause is right. 
No use to worry. 
We must hurry, 
Somewhere over sea. 
Before our transports sail. 
Don't let your courage fail. 

Chorus. 
Somewhere abroad we'll all do our bit. 
Somewhere abroad they will find we are fit. 
Camp Dix is ready. Hear those French cheers. 
"Three hundred and twelve," best that they've 

seen for years. 
Somewhere our trenches will soon be dug — 
We'll drive out that old German bug. 
Somewhere we're going, we don't care when. 
We're Jersey's Division of real fighting men. 

While we're away 
You hope and pray. 
Soon back the news will come — 
Germans run from our guns. 
God's liberty, 
Belgium is free. 

New Democracy for you and me 
Both here and over sea. 
So good-bye, come now, smile. 
We'll fight in Yankee style. 
Chorus. 

24 



